She remembered something and yanked open the bottom drawer of the bed table. After she had separated her shoulder surfing a few years before, she had bought a recirculating pump that pushed cold water into a rubber wrap that she could lay over her shoulder to ease the pain and swelling. A clear plastic tube connected the pump to the wrap. She yanked it out of the drawer and put it down on the floor.
“Okay, I found something. Can I take the knife out of his neck to cut the tube?”
“Do it.”
“How long do you want the tube?”
“No more than six inches needed.”
Ballard pulled the knife back and quickly cut a six-inch length of the tube with the razor-sharp blade.
“Okay, got it. What next?”
“Put one end of the tube through the incision and into the airway. Don’t go more than an inch in. Just push it through.”
Ballard did as instructed and felt the tube break through and into the windpipe.
“Okay, I’m in. Does he just start breathing, or what?”
“No, you have to get him started. Breathe into the tube. Check his chest, make sure it’s rising. Not too hard. Be gentle.”
Ballard jumped off Bonner and moved to his side. She gently blew into the tube and saw his chest rise.
“Okay,” she said.
“All right, watch his chest,” Single said. “You want to see if he breathes on his own.”
“It went down, that’s it.”
“Try it again, try it again.”
Ballard repeated the procedure, with no result.
“Nothing. Trying again.”
“You may have to breathe for him until the rescue gets there.”
Ballard tried again and then crouched low so she could watch the profile of Bonner’s chest. She saw it go down as air escaped through the tube. But then it rose again on its own.
“I think … he’s breathing. Yes, he’s breathing.”
“Well done, Detective. How’s his color?”
Ballard looked at Bonner’s face. The purple was leaching out of it. Fresh blood was circulating.
“It’s good. It’s getting there.”
“Okay, what I want you to do is call me back on FaceTime so I can look at him. Can you do that?”
Ballard disconnected the call without replying and then called back on FaceTime. While she waited for the call to go through, she reached up to the top of the bed table to grab her handcuffs. She snapped one cuff around Bonner’s right wrist and clamped the other around the metal bed frame half a foot away.
She looked down at Bonner. His eyes were slits and he showed no sign of being conscious, but there was no doubt that he was breathing. There was a low whistling sound coming from the tube she had inserted into his neck.
Single answered the call and Ballard saw his face. It looked like he was outside, and she could see the yellow brick of the fire station behind him.
“You’re hurt,” he said. “Are you okay?”
For the first time, Ballard remembered the barrel of the gun being dragged down her chin. She brought her hand up to touch the wound and felt blood.
“I’m okay,” she said. “Take a look at him.”
She flipped the camera so Single could see Bonner on the floor. She could now hear sirens but was unsure whether they were on her end of the call or Single’s.
“You see him?”
“Yes. Uh, it looks good. Actually, it looks perfect. He’s breathing and his color is good. You got rescue on the way?”
“Yeah, I think I hear them now.”
“Yeah, that’s them. They’re coming. Who is this guy? You handcuffed him?”
“I just did that in case he woke up. I was sleeping and he broke in. He was going to kill me with my own gun — I think to make it look like suicide.”
“Jesus, why?”
“He’s a murder suspect. Somehow he found out I was onto him and where I live.”
“Holy shit!”
“Yeah.”
Ballard tried to think of how Bonner could have known about her and the investigation. The easy answer was Dennis Hoyle. She had spooked Hoyle, and he in turn sent Bonner after her. That reminded her — Bosch had been there as well.
“Listen, Garrett, I need to make another call,” she said. “Thank you so much for helping me.”
“I don’t know if I should have, if this guy was trying to kill you,” he said.
Ballard smiled.
“That might be the sweetest thing anybody’s ever said to me. I’ll call you later.”